


Jean-Claude Durand's Dismissal from Service

by fiacresgirl



Series: Pollen Vector 'Verse [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Humor, LOF IMM 2016, Masturbation, Sex Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiacresgirl/pseuds/fiacresgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity is stressed and sexually frustrated from doing double duty for Oliver day and night, so she decides to take matters into her own hands. [Cough, cough.] </p><p>Takes place in the beginning of Season 2 when Felicity Smoak was acting both as Oliver Queen's EA and Team Arrow's tech guru/hacker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jean-Claude Durand's Dismissal from Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lerayon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lerayon/gifts).



> This fic is to celebrate [lerayon's Legends of Flarrow IMM2016](http://lerayon.tumblr.com/post/143944249207/the-lusty-month-of-may-celebrating-international). Thanks for reading and betaing, my friend.
> 
> Thanks to [CharlieLeau](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieLeau/pseuds/CharlieLeau) for providing Felicity's fantasy guy with his French name. She has assured me that "Jean-Claude Durand" is a completely unsexy French name.
> 
> This fic is written so as to be read on its own, but it fits in the Pollen Vector 'Verse [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5963350/chapters/14458594) too.

The water in the bathtub was so hot when Felicity stepped into it that she hopped on one foot while she added the cold. Then she put in her bath salts and five drops of sandalwood essential oil. She was feeling sensual anyway, so she might as well go with it.

The heat wilted her right away, and she dipped the back of her head under the water and held it there until the headache she’d been fighting all evening finally stopped its throbbing. Then she carefully massaged some shampoo in and rinsed it out. Oh, it was nice to sit here and have a little hydrotherapy. She’d spent the day trying not to look at Oliver in his tailored suit and the night avoiding staring at him shirtless on the salmon ladder. Her look-but-don’t-touch policy was sound, but hard to follow under these circumstances. He’d sweated up a storm clang-clang-clanging on those metal bars and then beaten the crap out of that poor dummy in the corner.

By the time Oliver had finished, he was drenched. Felicity was no further along in her research on gun running, but she was squirming in her chair. She made her excuses and left before she could do anything she’d regret later. Could it be considered sexually harassment if your boss first paraded about wearing only a pair of sweatpants and some miscellaneous ink?

By now her water had cooled some, so she released the drain lever with her big toe, then she turned her foot back and forth admiring how well her pedicure had held up this time around. The coral color sparkled under the droplets of water. As the tub drained, she eased her butt down to the end underneath the long faucet, braced her feet against tub, and turned on a thin stream of warm water. She tested it on her palm to make sure it wasn’t too hot, and then she slid her hips underneath and let the water fall over her clit. That felt _good_. She extended her legs up against the tiles, and sighed.

She hadn’t been in a real relationship in a good while, and she missed the companionship of having someone to kiss and laugh with. She would like to be able to make weekend plans to get away - to have a long romantic dinner with someone special and then take things upstairs and lick, suck, fondle, and make love until they were both exhausted and sated by emotion and sensation.

That’s not what she had, though. She had a stressful day job and a stressful night job. She had to keep most of what she did under wraps, and lying to a guy about where you were half of the time was a crummy way of making a relationship work. She didn’t want a one-night stand either. Sex with guys, even when you were in a relationship with them, even when they loved you, could be hit or miss. Sometimes it was a _big_ hit, when you were high on love and you had time to luxuriate in each other. Other times life intervened, people got tired and cranky or sick, and compromises were made. Priorities were reshuffled. You shrugged it off, changed the sheets, and that was it.

Felicity knew she could go out and find someone willing to volunteer as tribute, as it were, but she didn’t want to hear the blah blah Super Bowl blah blah real or fake blah blah craft beer. She just didn’t. She wanted to come her brains out and go to bed. It wasn’t too much to ask, and she was willing to do all the work herself so there was that.

The water flowed from the faucet in a thin stream, and she moved her hips about to create a different impact. There, yes, that was nice. She breathed in deeply and held that breath. Mmmm. Uh huh. The muscles in her butt contracted as her hips sought out the water.

Still, though it felt good, nice and relaxing, her mind was stuck back at QC with the quarterly reports and Oliver’s schedule for the rest of the week. It was time to bring in bigger guns. She closed her eyes and thought of Jean-Claude Durand.

 

_Jean-Claude is a tall, slim revolutionary with long dark hair tied back in a queue. He has hooded amber eyes, and he cares deeply and passionately about his people and their welfare. This fantasy always starts the same way, with Jean-Claude pounding on the door of her father’s house - her father, a rich Vicomte who had been dragged away by the crowd to be guillotined months ago. Felicity has been waiting for this to happen, for them to come for her too, and she’s barred the door every night, but Jean-Claude will no longer be denied. He is coming for her house and coming for her too._

_“I will break this door open with my axe if you do not surrender to me, mademoiselle,” Jean-Claude calls through the door. “And I will be very angry to have had to take the trouble. You do not want me to be very angry, do you?”_

_Felicity peeks out the crack between the shutters and sees strong back muscles moving as Jean-Claude lifts his axe. “Stop!” she cries._

_“Open the door,” Jean-Claude says. She feels powerless to do anything to stop him. Her servants have abandoned her, her other relatives have fled. All she has is this house, her memories, and her virtue._

_“I will not!” she says, and then the axe crashes against her door._

_“The axe is a nice touch,” Oliver says, and she turns to see him leaning against the carved post of the mahogany staircase railing. “Very phallic.”_

 

Felicity’s body jerked under the stream of water, and she slipped and bumped her tailbone on the floor of the tub. What was that? She righted herself back underneath the faucet, turned the cold water down a smidge, and closed her eyes again.

 

_Jean-Claude’s brown eyes smolder at her from behind the heavy oak door as Felicity pulls its weight open. “What do you want?” she asks. “You have already taken everything I love from me.”_

_“Then you will not mind if we take the house too. It is for the people of France!” Jean-Claude declares passionately. “They are starving while aristocratic filth like you wallow in the lap of luxury.” His long hair has come loose and he whips it back over his shoulders. His billowy white shirt masks a chest she knows is lean and strong. Felicity is afraid and excited at the same time._

_“Wallow in the lap of luxury?” Oliver says. “Felicity, this can’t be your fantasy.”_

 

Felicity’s eyes closed tighter as she concentrated on the water flowing over her. She was beginning to tense up in the best possible way, and she breathed shallowly out of her mouth. Getting there. She arched her back, seeking further sensation.

 

_Felicity turns her back on Jean-Claude and looks at Oliver with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Bringing some much needed sanity,” Oliver says. He gives Jean-Claude an unimpressed smile. “Hi.”_

_Jean-Claude looks confused, and Felicity can’t blame him. This is usually the part when she slaps him in the face and he grabs her by the arms and pushes her into the hand-painted wallpaper. “Is this your brother?” he asks._

_“Her brother,” Oliver laughs. “No.” He reaches over to shake Jean-Claude’s hand. “I’m Oliver Queen.”_

_“O-lee-ver…” Jean-Claude says. “Felicity, what is he doing here?”_

_“Intruding,” Felicity says. She grabs Oliver by the arm and leads him to the door. “Do you mind?” she asks. “I’m trying to get something done.”_

_“I see that,” Oliver says with a grin. “Do you know this Jean-Claude” - he pronounces it like JCVD - “is a teenager? He looks like he’s eighteen. At most.”_

_“I am nineteen, sir, and a leader in the army of the French Republic.”_

_“Are you?” Oliver says. He looks over at Felicity in disbelief. “I thought the revolutionaries won? Were all the adults killed off?”_

 

By now the water was lukewarm. Felicity reached up to turn the hot water higher and stretched out a leg to relieve a cramp. What was her subconscious doing? Did it want her to have an orgasm or not, for God’s sake?

 

_Felicity sighs. “Jean-Claude and I go way back, Oliver,” she says. “Ever since I saw--”_

_“Don’t say_ Les Miserables _\--”_

 _“--_ Les Miserables _in the theater,” Felicity finishes. She lifts her chin in a different sort of defiance. “The allure of the passionate rebel without a penny to his name was stronger before I had student loans,” she says. She smacks Oliver in his muscled chest. “I’m not proud of it!”_

_“This is sexy? Listening to him grind on about the evils of the rich?” Oliver asks._

_“He wants the best for his people,” Felicity says._

_“He’s taking your house for himself,” Oliver says. “If he didn’t care about money, wouldn’t he be content living in any old hovel?”_

_“Pardonne moi,” Jean-Claude says, raising a hand to his chest, “but I am not from a hovel,” - he pronounces it oh-VEL - “at all. I am a university student. And this house will now provide shelter to many needy people.”_

_Oliver stares at Felicity and then raises one eyebrow challengingly._

 

Felicity turned off the water. She was pissed now. She knew her fantasy was not historically accurate and would probably be offensive to real French people, but _it took a lot of time to work up a whole new fantasy_ , time she never seemed to have. Who was she hurting anyway? Oliver Queen could close his sexy mouth and stop criticizing. He was part of the problem, and she was going to shut him down and push toward her orgasm, damn it. It had been a long day, and she needed it.

 

_“Look, Oliver,” Felicity says, “I have one goal here, and Jean-Claude is here to help. What are you here for? Oh, yes: to make fun of me.”_

_Oliver holds up a hand. “I’m not making fun,” he says, but his blue eyes twinkle just the same. “It’s just…_ _Don’t you want a real man to fuck you in this fantasy?”_ _He steps closer to her._

 _“Sir, you insult me!_ _” Jean-Claude says, his voice rising. “Felicity--”_

_But Oliver shoves him out the door with one hand and then slams it closed. “Now,” he says, “where were we?”_

_Felicity throws up her hands. “I can’t do this with you!”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Oliver, this is my French Revolution fantasy. You’re not French. You’re not even dressed right.”_

_She blinks hard, and he’s dressed in a starched white shirt, green frock coat, and short, tight breeches. She walks around him in a circle. He actually looks really good in those breeches. She blinks again, and his hair is shoulder length._

_Oliver looks down at himself in horror. “These clothes are… What_ are _they? You can’t be seductive in a coat that’s...scrunched in at the waist? Felicity.”_

_She climbs up one stair step, and backs him into the wallpaper. “Shh,” she says. “If you have to talk, use a sexy French accent.”_

_Oliver frowns. “I don’t think the French think their accents are sexy.”_

_“That frock coat looks great on you,” Felicity says. “You don’t have to speak French, okay? You don’t have to talk_ at all _. Just look hot, and the water will do the work.”_

 

Felicity turned the water back on.

 

_Oliver kisses her, and with her on the step Felicity’s face is more level with his. She puts her hands up against his stomach to feel his abs. When his tongue slips inside her mouth, she groans. She pushes ineffectively at his coat, but his shoulder muscles keep it from sliding off. He turns her and shoves her into the corner of the stairway landing. His whiskers scrape against her face._

_“Is this really how you want to do this?”_

_She realizes it’s not. It really isn’t. She blinks her eyes, and they are in the Arrow Cave. All of his clothes are gone except for a loose pair of sweatpants._

_“You’re still in your dress,” Oliver says._

_“I love this dress,” Felicity says. “It’s hand-dyed silk, and the bodice is embroidered with gold thread and real pearls.”_

_“So many starving peasants,” Oliver says, shaking his head._

_She narrows her eyes. The dress is gone. She’s in her underwear, and his hands are already pulling it down. “Nice,” he says. “So pretty. I’ve thought about this too, you know.” He’s nuzzling her neck, and he slides his hands up and trails a finger along her clit, putting light pressure there. She’s very wet already. Of course she is._

_“You have?” she pants as she puts her own hands in his sweatpants and pushes them over his hips. Oh my._

_“All the time,” he says. “Your skirts are very short for an executive assistant. They drive me crazy.”_

_“I didn’t know,” Felicity says._

_“You knew,”_ _Oliver says as he lifts her up against a pillar. “Ready?”_

_“That’s it? That’s all the foreplay?” she asks._

_“This is your fantasy, Felicity,” he says._

_That’s right, it is, and she finds she’s more than ready. He lowers her down on his cock, and she spreads her legs wider. He’s so thick that they have to go slow, but the stretch feels amazing. She wraps her legs around his back, and he begins to move. “You feel fantastic,” she says. He bounces her up and and down, and his cock hits her g-spot. She throws her head back and begins to gasp. Her shallow breathing and the angle produce a small orgasm, and she tightens her legs around him._

_“Oh, God, Felicity,” he says. She feels the hardness of him and the pillar simultaneously. She’s going to be crushed between them, she knows it. It feels amazing._

_“Oliver!” she says, digging her nails into the muscles of his back. “Oh, that feels…oh, yes, yes...Oliver.” His hands are holding her ass, tossing and catching her. She’s weightless and so light. Something flutters hard inside her._

_“Can you just,” she says, and he reads her mind and lays her on the adjacent table. The metal is cold, but she doesn’t care because he’s leaning over her, rocking into her rhythmically, holding her arms above her head_ _with one hand._ _He pushes one of her legs open further with his other palm and circles a pattern in her thigh with his thumb. His muscled chest is sweaty. She licks his Bratva tattoo and collarbone and then bites that tentatively. Salty, addictive. He’s so addictive. Yes, yes…_

_He looks down at her, his eyes so blue and so strangely tender. The smile on his lips is no longer a grin, but something much softer and more subtle._

_The wave of her orgasm hits her all at once. She bears down and clenches again and again, locking her feet, trying to hold him inside her. “Don’t stop,” she says. “Don’t stop. I need you, Oliver. I need you. I love--” She bites down on her lip hard to keep the last from spilling out. It’s wrong, it’s right, it’s…_

_True._

 

Felicity opened her eyes to find herself not in the lair but still in her bathtub. Her orgasm finished rippling through her, and her body still shook with the force of it.  The water from the faucet was warm as it flowed over her inner thigh, but she felt chilled all the way through.

 _What_ was she going to do now?


End file.
